A PMS Day

PMS

Heavy grey thoughts swirl like moribund bats 'round my belfry.
"What's wrong?" everyone asks, when they notice I am distracted,
giving inconsistent answers to conventional questions.
Lost the thread of my life somehow,
and can't seem to find it here in the darkness.
How will I get out of this cave with no sun of happiness to light the
way?
Don't even know the source of the sun.
Nothing's really wrong, just the usual,
So why am I dragging hope's carcass, now that its' wings have
stilled?
Can't bear to give it up.

All my clothes are costumes for a different life, one I haven't lived,
yet.
Chances are slimmer, my song out of tune with my surroundings,
My stage far from this life.
How did I get here? How do I get out?
Hope is the station, Action is the train.
Caution is the brake.
"Just a reminder, don't get run over by the train",
speaks a little voice in my brain.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow,
will be better, everyone says, trying not to hear me,
lest I drag them with me to my abyss.